


A King by Any Name

by phyncke



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyncke/pseuds/phyncke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard and Thranduil form a relationship during the Battle of Five Armies and after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A King by Any Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



> Note: Movie Verse from The Hobbit

Title: A King by Any Name  
Author: phyncke  
Character(s): Bard/Thranduil, Bain, Sigrid, Tilda, Alfrid, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Tauriel, Dain  
Rating: R  
Beta(s): Aglarien  
For: Slashy Valentine 2015  
Note: Movie Verse from The Hobbit  
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.  
Summary: Bard and Thranduil form a relationship during the Battle of Five Armies and after. 

-Prologue 

For many a long year, there existed between the men of Esgaroth and the elves of Mirkwood a mutually beneficial trade agreement. It was conducted through the use of sturdy wooden barrels as the means of conveyance along the Forest River which flowed directly past the Elvenking’s Halls out of the dark forest east to Long Lake, within sight of the Lonely Mountain. 

Esgaroth, or Lake-town, was a settlement on top of the lake, built up on stilts within sight of Erebor. The men of the township farmed the shores nearby and grew food which they then traded with the elves of the Woodland Realm. They would fill the barrels with whatever was in season or with what they thought would please King Thranduil, the mercurial ruler of the Wood Elves. Favoring his tastes brought generous reward to the town and all benefitted. In this manner, they filled the coffers of their city and gained the means to purchase goods they needed from other lands. 

This all occurred while the dragon, Smaug, slept in the mountain. The beast had not been seen for many a year and many doubted if indeed he was still there, or but a myth in the memories of the elder folk. Rumor was that the beast slept in the mountain on top of mounds of treasure, guarding his hoard of gold and precious gems. 

Bard worked hard each week hauling barrels back and forth between Lake-town and the river’s outlet to Long Lake. He was a big strapping man, both broad and muscular, trained as an archer to defend the town but needing to work in trade to provide for his three children – his son, Bain and two daughters, Tilda and Sigrid. With his wife gone, he was their sole provider and would not shirk in his responsibilities. 

One might think a ruler such as Thranduil, the elvenking, would leave menial or mundane tasks to his underlings and that the barrel trade was beneath his notice but he was not that way. All matters of the kingdom were of import to the King of Mirkwood and at times he would check in on the commerce incognito. He might don the simple garb of a common wood elf and effect the diffident manner of a clerk or tradesman to treat with the men of Esgaroth. 

It was in this costume that he first met with Bard the Bargeman one Spring on the banks of the Forest River, and found him to be as forthright and honest a man as there could be of the Edain. 

“Well met, Bard of Lake-town. My name is Laurion and I am here to inspect the barrels before they are hauled up river to the Caves of Thranduil, to ensure that the goods are of the best quality and only the finest pass. Please open them for my perusal…”

“Of course, of course.” Bard gestured to the men standing by the barrels. “Open them up!”

Thranduil walked past each as the top was lifted off and reached inside, pulling out a fine head of lettuce from the first and radishes from the second. 

“It looks like you have had a fine early harvest this year. “

There were more to grace the King’s table; tomatoes and cucumbers as well as carrots and potatoes. There were cured meats in some barrels as well. A full set of food stuffs to grace the King’s table and supply the elves of the forest. 

“I hope that this will meet with the King’s approval.”

“I am sure it shall. The King has ever found favor with the trade thus far.”

The elf spoke with such surety as would seem proper of a close confident of the ruler. Bard assumed this was a common wood elf though beautiful to behold as were all from the Woodland Realm. His hair was like sunshine, skin that seemed to glow -- Bard was somewhat awestruck in front of the first born. He felt all thumbs, big and cumbersome,and the simple fact was that he was broader and bulkier while the elf was elegant and slight. 

Laurion moved lightly and did not make a sound of footfall. Bard could hear his own feet thud on the ground like the steps of an Oliphant, big and lumbering. He was oafish and blushed a bit when the representative smiled at him with the bluest of eyes he had ever seen. 

“This is all as it should be and we will accept the shipment, Master Bard.”

Bard coughed, “I am no Master, simply Bard will do for me.”

Laurion raised an eyebrow at his humility but did not press the matter. 

“As you wish…”

Coin passed hands, the deal was struck and Bard watched the elves cart away the food up the elven path into Mirkwood to make its way to the halls of their king, Thranduil. By all accounts he was a mercurial ruler, wise, magical and protective of his people. His trade with the men of Lake-town was a necessity for the elves kept to themselves and did not mingle with the outside world. 

Laurion and Bard saw each other over the years until events would bring them together in a different manner and under different guise. But until that time, they struck up a friendship that crossed the races. 

-The Truth Is Apparent to Everyone Except Bard

Once Thorin and company had returned to Erebor, awoken the dragon and brought its wrath down on Lake-town, Bard stood resolute, killing Smaug with the last black arrow in his possession, the arrow which had been passed down from his forebear of Dale. He had pierced its breast through a vulnerable bare patch, a chink in his armor, and struck the worm right in the heart. The beast had fallen on their town and destroyed everything so they had to seek shelter with winter approaching. He had much to do, with Bain, Sigrid and Tilda to look out for, as well as all of the townspeople who now looked to him as their de facto leader. They gathered up their belongings as best they could and made for the ruins of Dale, the only place that could afford them some shelter in the area. 

Bard and his people trudged up the mountain, carrying their meager belongings, firewood and clothes. The coffers of Lake-town had been emptied by the greedy Master who had met his end crushed beneath the weight of the fallen dragon upon the lakeside town. No one truly mourned him but they did follow the one who had bravely stood up to the worm. He had warned them before of what might happen and protected them when the dragon came upon them. That was enough to solidify him as a leader in their minds. 

As dusk fell they arrived at the ruins of Dale within sight of the mountain. Many of the abandoned buildings still stood and Bard gave the order for his people to seek shelter for the night. They set fires about the city for warmth and protection and Bard ordered Alfrid, the Master’s assistant, to watch for the night on the wall. He hoped he was up to the task for he needed to see to his children and ensure they were warm and had food in their stomachs. 

The next morning, much to everyone’s surprise, it seemed an army of armor clad elves had snuck up on them under Alfrid’s “watchful” eye, or so he claimed. Laurion led them, or not Laurion, for it turned out that his long-time elf-friend was none other than the king himself, Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. Bard was surprised to learn of this, but even more overwhelmed by the generosity of the king in bringing much needed aid to their cause. 

“You are not what you seem, King Thranduil of Mirkwood, or shall I still call you by the name I know you by all these years?”

“I am no different by any name, Bard of Lake-town, and you now a dragonslayer and leader of your people. You are much changed by all accounts and we are still friends, I hope” Thranduil said sincerely once they had a moment in private. 

Bard did not want to debate the differences between a common elf and the king of the realm, but now in retrospect he should have known from the elf’s manners that he was not a lowly trader. 

“Of course, we are still friends. We appreciate the food and aid you have brought from the Woodland Realm. It is much needed.”

Thranduil’s soldiers stood at attention as the man spoke to their ruler. Their armor shone in the morning sun, reflecting its rays as they awaited the King’s command. Other wood elves distributed food from horse drawn wagons to eagerly waiting Lake-town refugees. They passed out large bottles of fresh drinking water, leafy greens and fresh vegetables, cured meats and elven made clothing for winter weather. This was most welcome by the villagers who had lost most of what they owned in the desolation that Smaug had brought to their town. 

Thranduil and Bard held conference together in an abandoned building off of the main market square in the ruins that were once the grand city of Dale and discovered that their goals were much aligned. Bard wanted a portion of the dwarves’ treasure that had been promised to the people of Lake-town in exchange for their aid, and weapons and the means to ascend to the mountain of Erebor. 

The King, in his turn, had always wanted the delicate white gems from the treasure horde. They had been promised to his people and withheld by Thror, previously King under the Mountain. He likened these jewels to starlight in their delicacy and quality and they were an heirloom of his people. 

Together they decided that Bard should negotiate with Thorin Oakenshield, who was barricaded within the mountain, and see if he might treat with them and thus avoid war and bloodshed. There was a sliver of hope that the dwarf might see reason and honor his word to the people of Esgaroth, and if he did thus, he might negotiate with Thranduil as well. 

And so they awaited the dawn to see what the morning would bring. 

-The Battle and After…

Suffice to say, Thorin Oakenshield refused them, even when they possessed the Arkenstone, courtesy of Bilbo Baggins. What happened next has passed into history and legend. The five armies converged on Erebor – orcs, goblins, elves, men and dwarves – and an intense battle raged for both the mountain and the treasure within. The forces of evil were repelled by the alliance formed by men, dwarves and elves, with the help of the eagles at the end in dramatic fashion. 

Bard had spent most of the battle in defense of Dale and looking out for the welfare of his children, battling trolls and other large creatures. They were ultimately successful with much loss of life and limb. Orcs and goblins were nasty creatures who fought with zeal and venom and evil intent. 

Thranduil led the force of elves in the main battle and when it was all over was much aggrieved at the loss of elvish lives for a war over treasure and riches. He surveyed the fallen and felt each life taken personally as his own responsibility. A sadness overcame him. Elves were nearly immortal, living as long as Arda itself, and so when they died, they went on to the Halls of Waiting and might be again reborn, but that was of no solace. The weight of the battle and carnage pressed on his fëa as he stood looking out over the plain in front of Erebor, elf next to dwarf next to orc in the throes of death. It was all too much for him to take and so he looked away and went to find his son, Legolas, and ensure that he was alive. 

He found his son, battle weary but adamant that he could not return home. 

“I cannot go back,” the younger elf said.

“Go North, then. You will find the Dunedain there. There is a Ranger there who shows much promise. I knew his father, Arathorn, who was a good man. His son could be a great one.”

Legolas reached back as he turned to go, and that was all he could expect after all that had passed between them. They needed time apart and time to heal their rift. Some distance would be good for them and Legolas needed to see the world outside of Mirkwood. 

Thranduil then came upon Tauriel grieving over the body of Kili the dwarf who had died saving her from Bolg, the Orc Commander. Their love had been true and now was no more. He ended her banishment from the realm and assured her that the love she had felt was genuine. Her pain was tangible and ripped his heart in two. He hoped she would decide to return to the wood and to her place in his kingdom. But that choice was ultimately hers to make. 

He began to give orders as to the disposition of the dead. Separating elf from orc, piling the orcs for burning and preparing the elvish dead for burial in the custom of his people. It was grim work but necessary and a fact of war. The dwarves saw to their own with solemnity. He wondered how Bard fared and if he had survived the battle for the City of Dale. He knew the man’s spirit was strong as was his body. He would not be defeated easily. He reached for him with his mind as he knew he could, and found an answer that pleased him. The man yet lived and that was enough to know for now. He would not probe his thoughts. 

Bard hurried toward the Great Hall and found the door open and in pieces. His stomach leapt to his throat when he saw that it was empty of people. Had he not told his children to wait there? To barricade themselves in and not open it for anything? 

“Da! You are alive!” Tilda yelled from across the marketplace. 

Bain, Tilda and Sigrid ran across the town square, avoiding dead orc carcasses and other obstacles. His youngest launched herself at him as soon as she was close enough. 

“Da! I am so glad to see you!” Bard squeezed her tight and then widened his arms to hug all of his children. Even Bain, normally so sulky, gave in to the embrace. Even amid the carnage, he could feel his love radiating outward and felt another presence, someone reaching for him across the landscape. He felt that mind envelop his own and touch him and it was a welcome thing. He knew it was Thranduil and he felt relieved that the elf-king had survived the battle. They would reunite soon, he hoped, and compare their experiences. 

For now, his rambunctious children regaled him with their wartime stories of trolls, orcs, near-misses and harrowing almost death accidents. He was so glad they were all alive and well and able to swap tales that would soon become legends to the folk of Lake-town, now of Dale. He took them back to the house that they had put their salvaged belongings in, which blessedly was still in tact after the battle, so they could rest. There would be much to do in the aftermath of such a great siege. The dead would have to be seen to, the town resurrected and his people led to their new destiny. He was now a ruler and had responsibility; some called him “king” or “master”. He did not know what to call himself. He would figure it out later. 

For now they would rest and recover and leave their worries behind. 

-A Festival to Remember

Some days later, Thorin Oakenshield was laid to rest, with his nephews Fili and Kili by his side, in a tomb within the Lonely Mountain. His cousin Dain became King Under the Mountain and ruler of the Dwarf Kingdom of Erebor as next in the line of succession. 

Thranduil lay the sword, Orcrist, the goblin cleaver, in Oakenshield’s hands so that he would possess it rightfully in death as he had in life. This seemed just and the dwarves appreciated his kindness in the gesture. 

After proper rites were observed for the fallen by dwarves, elves and men, a feast was held in their honor before the Halls of Erebor. Where once blood had been shed, mead was drunk and music played until all hours of the night within sight of the city of Dale and the Lonely Mountain both. 

Bard had just left his children in the care of the womenfolk of Lake-town, assured that they would be carefully looked after. Bain had sulked, wanting to attend the feasting, but he had felt his son still to young for a party of that nature. What with all the drinking and flirting, a father would worry. He had food sent to those who stayed behind in Dale, but as the leader of the men, he needed to represent his people among the races of dwarves and elves. 

Thranduil wandered through the throng and could hear both laments and joyous praise for those who died in battle and fought bravely and survived the fight. It was a bittersweet gathering and emotional for those present. Many a glass was raised to, “Hail the glorious dead!” as the mortal men were like to do. To the elf-king it was a day both of sadness and hope, sadness for the loss of his people in the fight, and hope for the future of their peoples united. He sought Bard in the crowd and spent some time looking for the tall archer and new leader of the men of Dale. 

He reached for him with his mind and felt the youthful answer. Men were so young really as they lived for so short a time. They did not have the weariness of the ages spent on Arda. Thranduil sensed the warmth and strength of the man as he looked for him in the surging crowd and finally saw him in conversation with his town folk. He reached for two glasses of sparkling wine direct from his very own cellars from a passing tray and began to traverse the party. 

“Here Bard, a king must always have a glass of something in his hand at a party such as this.”

“I am not a king, not yet anyway,” the man replied, grumbling as he took the glass, sipping the elegant drink, letting the bubbles tickle his nose.

“You will be, most assuredly,” Thranduil asserted. “You are rightfully king and are certainly the leader of your people no matter what you call yourself.”

Bard pondered the elf-king’s words and took them to heart. The people of Lake-town, now of Dale, needed a leader, no doubt, and while he chafed at the title of king, he was descended from the Lord of Dale. Was that not good enough? 

“I am a simple bowman and bargeman. I am not comfortable with lofty titles.”

“It does not matter, Bard. Your people need you and will call you whatever you wish to be called. King Bard has a nice ring to it.”

Thranduil’s blue eyes twinkled as he raised his glass in a mock toast to his friend. 

“Surely you jest,” Bard scowled. 

“I am very serious. All hail King Bard!” The elf raised his glass in salute as the cry was carried through the crowd. 

“ALL HAIL KING BARD!”

And so it was that Bard became King of Dale, and his son would succeed him. He was recognized by all in those parts and throughout Middle Earth as the rightful king of that city and as the dragonslayer who had killed the last dread worm in Middle Earth. Much was told of his deed and the single black arrow he had let fly. 

 

Many a song was sung that night, many a glass was raised for those who had fallen and for those who had survived the difficult battle. Thorin Oakenshield passed into legend along with those in his company who had perished, and Dain took up the mantled of King Under the Mountain. 

The next day, the treasure horde was divided amongst the victors and Bard received his people’s share of the trove. Bilbo Baggins, that indomitable hobbit, had left with only two chests and had donated his share to the cause of the Lake-town folk. It would be enough to rebuild Dale and Lake-town both should they want to. They had a dragon to dispose of, homes to construct and trade to conduct with the elves of Mirkwood, much to be done. 

Thranduil and Bard bade each other farewell for a time and knew that they would ever be allies in the future. 

-Epilogue – 

Bard rode up the elven path from Esgaroth, the Long Lake to the settlement of the Wood Elves in Mirkwood as he had done many times before when visiting Thranduil, his long time friend and now lover. It did not bother him to brave the darkness of the forest and the danger of the spiders infesting the wood. It was all worth it and he knew this path very well indeed, as did Thranduil, who had travelled it in the other direction to go to Dale for some long years. 

When he arrived he was greeted warmly by his love to whom he had given the white jewels from the treasure horde as a keepsake. He had known they were of value to the elf-king and mattered to him a great deal. They dined together and then more amorous pursuits ensued. 

The fire crackled in the hearth as well-muscled legs entwined under plush fur blankets. Bard and Thranduil, long denied their solace, embraced in the full throes of passion. 

Bard was bulkier of form, while Thranduil was more elegant of limb in the manner of the elven folk, slender and lithe, though still muscular. Their hands roamed freely over each other as they lay on the settee in the king’s chambers and enjoyed the touch and feel of skin to skin contact. They made love with a gentle passion between them as Bard shared his body with Thranduil and opened up to him in all ways. 

Their minds touched as their bodies touched and they felt completion together and a strong satisfaction. Thranduil knew that he would outlive this man but he would enjoy the time that he had with him for now and spend what time they had together. 

Years later, Bard’s eyes would close for the last time and Thranduil would shepherd his spirit from this world. For now they were together and that was enough. 

 

The End


End file.
